


Sincerely, Respectfully, Yours

by CM797



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Humor, Not Canon Compliant - Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-25
Updated: 2016-08-22
Packaged: 2018-01-26 12:05:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1687685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CM797/pseuds/CM797
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-War. AU. "So rumor has it you're courting Draco Malfoy through love letters." "N-no, but it's the only way he answers me!" / Letters and the events surrounding them between the two most stubborn Heads on the planet. DM/HG</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_Malfoy,_

_I know you probably had the same reaction I had when I got my letter. Although I initially thought that McGonagall was off her rocker, I am quite certain that no one else was qualified for the job but you. With that said, congratulations on making Head Boy._

_Since we will be working together in close quarters for the next months, I would like to propose a truce. I would really appreciate it if we could put our differences aside and work on making this year a great one for the rest of the students at Hogwarts._

_Hermione Granger_

_Head Girl_

_Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

* * *

 

Draco Malfoy awoke to the sound of soft hooting by his window. Obviously, whoever had written him didn’t know him well enough to realize that Draco hated mornings as much as he hated Gryffindor, and the fact that the sun was streaming on his face was enough indication that he didn’t even want to bother opening the window for that bloody owl.

Who would even write to him anyway? Almost all his friends had either estranged themselves from him or died during the War. The only people he really spoke to were his parents, and one could say that their dinner conversation was never very pleasant – or existent. Draco furrowed his eyebrows slightly, before letting out a groan and opening his eyes wearily. A tawny owl hovered by his window, its hooting unceasing.

“What the hell,” he muttered under his breath, before sliding off his bed and walking towards the window to open it. The owl dropped the letter on his desk and immediately swooped out. Draco assumed that it had received instructions to just leave as soon as the letter was delivered, and he smiled wryly at the thought that the person was decent enough to write him a letter, but still found him untrustworthy.

His eyes widened in surprise at the sight of his name written in Hermione Granger’s neat cursive, before the instinct to roll his eyes overcame him. The year hadn’t even started, and she was already bothering him. Needless to say he contemplated declining returning to Hogwarts at the mention that he was going to be Head Boy to Granger’s Head Girl, but he wasn’t a coward. Granger was going to have to deal with him being Head Boy, whether she bloody liked it or not.

He scanned the letter quickly and let out an annoyed huff. Another thing he didn’t like – working in close quarters. It was one thing to see Granger and the rest of that idiotic Golden Trio in class, but to spend every waking moment with them was quite unbearable. Although they did have the Heads Dormitories, it was almost certain that they would be hanging out there most of the time. And Draco wouldn’t allow it. He really wouldn’t.

“This is going to be a _long_ year,” he mumbled, before crumpling the letter up and blasting it to smithereens with his wand.

* * *

 

_Granger,_

_Firstly, who the bloody hell signs their letters like a résumé? I know you’re Head Girl, and obviously I know you’re Head Girl at Hogwarts. The formality of your signature was so stupid, I nearly wanted to rip this letter apart._

_Your absurdity aside, I would also like to congratulate you on getting the position, although really, I don’t know who else they’ll give it to. You would have marched over to Hogwarts if they had denied you the position. As for the truce, well – the truce doesn’t mean that you get to boss me around and tell me what to do. I am equally qualified for this position, and I also have a say in what is to be done at the school._

_Also, this is work. That means that outside of it, I have no intention of talking to you whatsoever. So really, the truce isn’t necessary._

_Draco Malfoy_

_Head Boy_

_Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

_P.S. See how irritating that is? Don’t do it again, Granger._

* * *

 

“I honestly don’t see why you bothered,” said Ginny Weasley with a laugh, tossing Malfoy’s letter on the breakfast table. She flipped her bright auburn hair over her shoulder, attempting to fix it into a fishtail braid. Across the table sat Hermione Granger, numbly playing with the scrambled eggs on her plate. She had never felt so humiliated in her whole life. Malfoy really had a talent for making her blood boil. “Just because the War is over doesn’t mean Malfoy isn’t a prick.”

“Language, Ginevra,” replied Hermione almost instinctively. She sighed and reached over, her fingers brushing over the smooth parchment and Malfoy’s harsh, clean strokes. “I just – well, I thought he’d be different.”

“I don’t know what you were eating when you wrote that letter, ‘Mione, but Ginny’s right,” said Ron Weasley between mouthfuls of breakfast. Bits of egg splattered onto the parchment, and Hermione attempted to hide her disgust as she folded the piece of parchment back into a small square. “Malfoy’s always been an asshole.”

“The War changes people. Hermione must’ve thought it applied to him as well.” Hermione shot her other best friend a grateful smile. Harry Potter knew when to say the right thing, and it was something she always admired of him. Harry leaned over and squeezed her hand gently. “Don’t worry, Hermione. You both will do fine.”

“If they don’t kill each other,” laughed Ginny, shooting Hermione a teasing look. “But Harry’s right, Hermione, you have nothing to worry about. If you kill him first, Ron and I will hide the body for you.”

Hermione couldn’t help but laugh at this. “I’m glad I have your help.” She rested her chin on her palm, staring out at the sky from the kitchen window. “I’m just – well, scared, I guess. I have no idea what to expect from him.”

“He did say he wasn’t going to talk to you outside work,” Harry pointed out. “Maybe he’ll just leave you alone.”

“Which means he’ll leave us alone too!” said Ron triumphantly. “See how well this works out for us?”

Hermione smiled briefly and stared down at her plate. She could feel Malfoy’s cold tone from the letter, and she knew that once they saw each other it wouldn’t even make a difference. And for some reason, she had an uneasy feeling that this was going to be harder than anything they ever went through during the War.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who's left kudos for this story, as well as watched it over the past two years. Embarrassing. Here's the second chapter, though! Rest assured I will be working hard to finish it!

_Malfoy,_

_We were supposed to meet in the Head Compartment thirty minutes ago! I don’t know where the hell you are on this train, but we need to meet with the Prefects in an hour, and I don’t want us to look ridiculous and disagree in front of them._ Please.

 

_Hermione Granger_

* * *

 

 

The bloody woman wouldn’t leave him alone.

 

Draco sat alone in a compartment away from the hustle and bustle of new and old students reuniting. He already had enough of Hogwarts without even seeing the damn castle, and he was beginning to think that re-enrolling at the school was the worst decision he could’ve made post-War. Merely standing on the platform was unbearable; everyone there obviously thought that he was terrifying, or that he should’ve been in Azkaban like the rest of the Death Eaters. Even some students had the bloody audacity to hiss at him as he passed by! It was humiliating enough that his parents were forbidden to take him to the train station, much less be treated this way by everybody else after the War. They didn’t even know him.

 

Draco subconsciously tugged at the sleeve of his left arm. Add _that_ to the list of the worst decisions he’s ever made. Everybody kept glancing at him, trying to see if he was going to do something ridiculous and blast everyone on the platform in the name of the Dark Lord. Bloody hell, if Draco had a choice, he’d – he didn’t know what he would’ve done.

 

The Slytherin glanced back down at the letter in his hand, before crumpling it with an easily clenched fist. The stupid Head Girl chose to look for the most unassuming, terrified first year to deliver the message to him, and the boy even squeaked even before Draco looked in his direction. “From Hermione Granger, sir, the Head Girl?” he said quickly, leaving just as quickly as he came. Draco was almost certain that he didn’t even need the Golden Trio to leave him alone. Everybody else was doing such a terrific job at it; it wouldn’t be a difficult act to follow.

 

Letting out an exasperated sigh, Draco stood up and wrapped his cloak tighter around his frame. Although he wasn’t quite ready to face Granger or the rest of the bloody world just yet, he decided that it was now or to look like a cowardly bastard for the rest of the year. He didn’t need any of his cronies to remind him of how cowardly he was during the War. He already told himself that every day.

 

With a swift click, the door slid open. Draco pinned his badge to his chest and lifted his nose in the air. If people were going to fear him, well – he might as well take advantage of it.

* * *

 

Hermione Granger paced back and forth, examining her watch every couple of seconds and glancing at the door. She had sent the child away hours (or what felt like hours) ago, and she at least expected a response if the blonde-haired Slytherin wasn’t coming. Her heart was pounding a million miles an hour; she didn’t even understand why. In the past year, Hermione witnessed some of the most horrible things that any witch or wizard had ever seen. Hell, she’s experienced a Cruciatus Curse by the Head Boy’s aunt, no less. Surely, something as trivial as this wasn’t supposed to bother her.

 

“You look like you’re deep in thought,” said a voice thoughtfully, “or like you’re going to vomit.”

 

Hermione’s eyes shot up, landing on Ginny Weasley leaning against the compartment lazily. Hermione proudly spotted the gleaming Prefect’s badge on the younger girl’s robes, and Ginny winked playfully at her before flopping down on one of the cushioned benches. “Plait my hair, will you please?” asked the redhead, and Hermione dutifully complied. She settled beside the girl, her fingers reaching out to unknot Ginny’s messy locks.

 

“I don’t know why he’s late,” said Hermione after a moment, frustration lacing her voice. “Is he insisting that we have a hard time this year? Honestly, Gin, I don’t know how I’m going to survive.”

 

“I’ve said it once, love, and I’ll say it again – I don’t know why you bothered.” Ginny dismissively waved her hand. “Malfoy has always been nothing short of a wretch, and I don’t see why the War could’ve changed him at all.”

 

“The War changes anybody,” argued Hermione, her hands beginning to shake. “Ginny, if you’ve seen the horrors the man has seen –”

 

“We’re talking about Draco Malfoy, Hermione, not you.” Ginny sighed and tilted her head, and Hermione let out a noise as the plaits fell back into an array of messy curls beyond Ginny’s shoulders. “Look, I want to be encouraging, I really do –”

 

“Always knew we could count on a Weasley to do a bad job,” interjected a smooth, low tone. Hermione’s and Ginny’s heads whipped toward the doorway, and for a moment, Hermione swore she couldn’t breathe.

 

It had been a long while since the Gryffindor had seen Draco Malfoy, and she wasn’t even sure how to describe how much he had changed. Gone was the arrogant, confident air that he always held about him; instead, Malfoy held himself with a quiet, subdued aura of an ordinary person that had gone through extraordinary times. His hair was still pushed back away from his face, and his sharp, delicate features didn’t change. However, there was something different about him that Hermione couldn’t put her finger on. And it unnerved her more than she let on.

 

“Malfoy,” said Ginny stiffly, shooting him a dark look.

 

“Off you go, then, Weasley. The Prefect meeting isn’t for another ten minutes, and I believe that Granger and I have a couple of things to discuss before then.”

 

“I’ll see you later, Ginny,” interrupted Hermione, just as Ginny opened her mouth to protest. Letting out a breath, Ginny rolled her eyes and stood. She shot another glare at the blonde in the doorway, before nodding her head at Hermione and billowing past the Head Boy toward the other compartments. Malfoy swiftly shut the door behind him, settling into the seat across Hermione. The Gryffindor was suddenly relieved that there was that much space in the compartment, for she wasn’t sure if she was even ready to face Malfoy at all after everything that’s happened.

 

“Well, get on with it, Granger,” snipped Malfoy. He raised a bemused brow at her. “It must be important if you _summoned_ me.”

 

“The Heads always have a meeting before –”

 

“Granger, as you know, I’ve been a Prefect before. I know how this goes. Usually, the Heads brief the new Prefects on their new responsibilities, as well as remind the former Prefects of theirs. We’ll hand out the passwords that McGonagall gave you, and assign patrols for the first week.” Malfoy gazed into Hermione’s eyes, his neutral expression unwavering. “Now, I assume that you think I didn’t do anything for the summer, so you’ve conveniently created a schedule at everyone’s convenience, including mine. I assumed that you would have done just that, so I decided to save myself the time and not do anything, just like you _wanted_ me to.”

 

Hermione felt her jaw slacken, and heat rushed up into her cheeks. “You’re _deplorable_ , Malfoy,” she hissed.

 

“No, _you’re_ unsure of my competence,” replied Malfoy coldly, his expression darkening. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’d like some time alone before this bloody madness begins.” Right before he left, he turned to shoot her another glare, before tossing a crumpled piece of paper that burned slowly by her feet. “And _don’t_ write me a bloody letter again.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! I'll be leaving for camp for a week, so here's another chapter to keep you sated in the mean time. It's quite Draco-centered, and I actually kind of like it? Let me know what you think in the comments! Thank you very much for all the kudos. :) Hope to hear from you all!

_Malfoy,_

_Since you really seem to be upset with me, I do have no choice but to write you letters. Being Head Girl is quite difficult when the Head Boy refuses to talk to her, you know, and frankly, I’m beginning to think that your behavior is quite immature. It’s only been a month, for god’s sakes! Can’t we just get along?_

_I did want to write to you for one thing in particular – I know that you must find life so horrible without a personal house elf, but given my beliefs and my values, I_ must _let you know how ill I think of it. You will be fine without one, and Professor McGonagall agreed with me that you are not to have one in the Head dormitories anymore._

_Maybe_ that _will get you to talk to me._

_Hermione Granger_

* * *

 

 

Draco nestled into the cushions of his bay window seat, wondering how on earth he was going to survive this year.

 

The only person that did come back after the War that Draco was even on civil terms with was Blaise Zabini, and even then, their conversations were limited and unamusing. Draco wasn’t certain of what Blaise thought of him, but he didn’t really care. The boys often sat at the end of the Slytherin table, grimly exchanging pleasantries about classes, the weather, and the occasional Quidditch updates in the Daily Prophet. However, it all felt quite put on, and Draco figured that they were simply entertaining each other for lack of doing anything better.

 

Narcissa Malfoy had requested a personal house-elf for Draco, mainly more of protection than anything else. Draco was capable of doing everything himself, but Narcissa felt that having a loyal servant by his side would keep Draco safe from any possible threats to his person. At first, Draco didn’t even want to see the house elf, often sending him off to do random errands that he didn’t really need done, but after a couple of days, he found that the house-elf was decent company. Watsy, short for Watson (and an unusual name for a house elf, really), was particularly funny, and Draco began to look forward to their conversations of Draco’s cup of tea before bed.

 

Imagine Draco’s fury, then, when Watsy tearfully handed him Granger’s letter. Despite the house elf’s vehement protests, Hermione merely smiled and insisted that he would make a fine addition to the group of free house elves that worked in the kitchens. Watsy was so upset; he almost set fire to the letter. “I’m sorry, sir, it’s why it’s burnt at the edges,” explained the house elf, fear widening his eyes.

 

“I’m quite upset that you didn’t burn it completely, to be honest,” said Draco scornfully as he read the letter. He lifted it into the air, and a quick spell from his wand turned the piece of parchment into ashes as it gracefully fell to the ground. Watsy immediately began to clean it, but Draco held up a hand to stop him. “Thank you, Watsy, but that isn’t necessary.”

 

“But you like everything clean, sir,” protested Watsy, his features crinkling. “It _must_ be clean.”

 

“Very well, then,” said Draco with a shrug. “But I will be right back, Watsy. You’re not going anywhere.”

 

With a swish of his robes, Draco angrily strode toward the Headmistress’s Office. McGonagall had replaced the gargoyles in the corridor with large suits of armor, and they tilted toward him with some form of disdain as they reluctantly let him through. “ _Fortis Draco,”_ he growled, and almost immediately the winding staircase led him up to the Headmistress’s Office. Unlike Dumbledore’s, McGonagall’s office was more organized and neat, reminiscent of her office in the Transfiguration classroom. It made Draco feel more at ease, despite the fact that Severus Snape’s portrait almost seemed to stiffen whenever he entered the room.

 

“Mr. Malfoy,” greeted McGonagall from her desk, not looking up from her papers, “I thought I would see you sooner or later.”

 

“Professor,” hissed Draco, slamming his hands on the desk, “the Head Girl is driving me insane.”

 

“Funny enough, she said the same thing about you only moments ago.” McGonagall looked up then, removing her glasses and eyeing Draco with the same scrutinizing look that she always had – not one of disdain, but more of stern curiosity. Draco had never noticed it before, but it made him feel uncomfortable at that moment, staring at his professor.

 

“Professor,” he said, clearing his throat slightly, “I’d really appreciate it if I kept my house-elf.”

 

“Ms. Granger did mention this a while back, yes.” The Headmistress leaned back slightly and interlaced her fingers, staring at Draco intently. “I would like to know why, Mr. Malfoy.”

 

Draco let out a strained growl, turning around and threading his fingers through his normally immaculate blonde hair. “You don’t understand, Professor.”

 

“Then help me understand, Mr. Malfoy,” said McGonagall simply. “Ms. Granger had no problem stating her case. I would like to hear yours.”

 

Draco closed his eyes, trying to ignore the lump in his throat. She wasn’t asking for much, and the way she was looking at him made him want to shrivel up and take the next Hogwarts Express back home. He could just start up a business, or take the family one in another direction – he didn’t have to deal with this –

 

“I’m waiting, Mr. Malfoy.”

 

Draco let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding in. He turned around and faced McGonagall once more, his grey eyes cold and stoic. If McGonagall noticed the drastic change in emotion on the Slytherin’s face, she didn’t say anything about it. She merely looked at him expectantly, as if it were a test that she was unsure if Draco was going to pass. Everyone seemed to look at him like he was a ticking time bomb, and at any moment, he was going to explode and kill them all.

 

Draco wasn’t going to let anyone have that satisfaction.

 

“Never mind, Professor,” replied the Slytherin, his tone low. “I’ll see to it that Watsy settles himself in the kitchens immediately. Thank you for your time.”

 

Before Professor McGonagall could open her mouth, Draco turned on his heel and exited the Headmistress’s Office. From the corner of her eye, she was almost certain that she saw a certain dark-haired Headmaster smirk.

 

* * *

 

_Granger,_

_Since you are so intent on taking everything I do personally, whatever truce you may have had with me is off. It seems as if you are intent on making my life a living hell here at Hogwarts, and I will not let you have the satisfaction of succeeding._

_If this is how you want to play, Granger, I’ll bloody play._

_Draco Malfoy_


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all! Thank you for being so patient with this chapter. Camp was wonderful, if any of you were wondering! Let me know what you think of this chapter though! Feel free to leave comments. As always, I appreciate the kudos. <3

_Malfoy,_

_I know you are upset with me right now, and I have yet to understand it completely since I haven’t done anything wrong. But I simply have one favor to ask you – please don’t tell anyone about last night. I – I would really appreciate it if you kept that to yourself. No matter how much you hate me._

Please.

_Hermione Granger_

* * *

 

For a moment, all Hermione saw was green flashes of light.

 

They were back in the Forest of Dean. It was the middle of winter, and Hermione was freezing. She tried to clutch her sweater closer to her chest, but she realized she was only wearing her nightgown. Snow was falling down on her face, and Hermione wasn’t sure if it was real –

 

Suddenly, a blood-curdling scream echoed east of Hermione. She whipped her head around, but saw no one. She gripped for her wand; it wasn’t there. Her breath quickened as she began to run east, towards the screaming. The Forest of Dean got darker, and the gnarly branches of the trees began to mold together to form the ruins of the Hogwarts courtyard. Hermione nearly tripped over all the broken cobblestone and rubble. As the Gryffindor drew closer, the screams only got louder –

 

Green flashes of light –

 

Tonks, down – Remus, down – Fred, down –

 

Fenrir Greyback feasting on Lavender Brown’s neck –

 

Screams, louder than Hermione’s pounding heart –

 

And finally, Lord Voldemort’s face, grinning down at her, hissing, “I’m coming for you, Granger” –

 

“Granger!”

 

Hermione sat up, sweat dripping down her face. She blinked back tears as she realized that she was back in the Head Dormitories, nestled in a canopy bed with scarlet and gold sheets and the moon shining brightly into her room. Everything was in order, and she felt no scars on her skin, or grime in her hair, and the Forest of Dean was miles and miles away. Everything was fine.

 

Except Draco Malfoy was standing by her door, his face stricken with shock and a little bit of grief.

 

Hermione clutched her duvet closer to her chest. “What are you doing here?” she choked out. Her voice was raspy, as if she was screaming for hours. Faintly, her left forearm – where the word ‘Mudblood’ was once written by Malfoy’s own aunt – began to pulse underneath her skin. She couldn’t slow down the beating of her heart, and trickles of sweat slipped along her forehead and neck. She felt awful.

 

It was only a dream, but somehow it wasn’t.

 

“I heard screaming,” said Malfoy stiffly, slipping his hands into his robe pockets.

 

“I –” Hermione didn’t even have the energy to fight him. “Get out, Malfoy.”

 

Malfoy’s eyes widened slightly, raising his eyebrows. “Granger –”

 

“I said, _get out_!” Hermione grabbed her wand and swished it violently, slamming the door shut and locking it. The door closed with a resolute thump, and that was all Hermione needed to burst into tears under the covers of her bed.

 

* * *

 

 

“You _what_?”

 

Hermione looked up at her best friends, her face stained with tears. “I slammed the door in his face and told him to get out,” she mumbled, toying with her sweater. She, Ron, and Harry were seated at one of their favorite alcoves, one with a beautiful view of the lake and the mountains that lay beyond it. Hermione was surprised that it had been a year since they explored those mountains searching for Horcruxes, but she was glad that she had left them all behind.

 

Except for the nightmares.

 

Harry chuckled slightly and nudged Hermione, his glasses sliding off his nose. “Way to stick it to him, Hermione,” he joked. Hermione shot him a glare, and he immediately stopped laughing. “Sorry.”

 

“So, he was just staring at you the whole time? While you were practically in your knickers?”

 

“ _Ronald_ ,” said Hermione, aghast. Ron’s face turned beet red in embarrassment, raising his hands up in surrender.

 

“ _What_?” he asked incredulously. “It was just a question.”

 

“That’s not the _point_ ,” replied the female hotly, standing up and moving to stare out at the view. “The point was – I thought that those nightmares would be over by now. And to have Malfoy see me in the middle of them, after sending me that horrible note – I just – I couldn’t deal with it.”

 

The silence that rested between them thickened. The War was something they went through together, but surprisingly something they never really mentioned afterward. Although it had been over a year since Harry defeated Voldemort for good, the ghosts of what had transpired still haunted them – mostly, for Hermione, in her dreams. Noticing Harry’s and Ron’s slightly ghastly expressions, Hermione guessed she wasn’t alone.

 

“I still have them, too,” said Ron finally, gazing up at his best friends with a slightly sheepish expression. “Of us wandering around in the Forest. In my dreams, I never find you two. And if I do, you’re usually…”

 

He trailed off, but Harry and Hermione knew what he meant. Hermione crossed her arms over her chest nervously, looking at Harry with concern. He had a hardened look on his face, and suddenly, the three of them all had sallow skin, bags under their eyes, and frowns that made them look years older. Hermione wondered what it would have been like if they were all ordinary.

 

But then again, if they were ordinary, she probably wouldn’t have met them at all.

 

“What are you lot talking about?” Ginny appeared at the alcove, a good-natured expression on her face. The trio immediately lit up at her presence, and Harry moved over for her to sit next to him. Ginny nestled into his arms almost instantly, and Ron’s expression soured. Hermione chuckled. At least there were some things that never changed.

 

“Nothing important,” said Harry, tilting towards his friends. Hermione smiled gratefully at him. Although Ginny was one of her best friends as well, it didn’t compare to what the three of them shared during their seventh year. Ginny shrugged and smiled as she began to talk about Quidditch try-outs, and Ron and Harry immediately chimed in with their own ideas.

 

Hermione turned around and gazed out at the lake, chewing on her lower lip as she thought.

 

She wondered if Malfoy had any nightmares.


End file.
